


Kissing Roose

by LadyGreyWrites



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Consent Issues, Creepy Fluff, Drabble Collection, First Kiss, Kissing, older Lyanna Mormont
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:52:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGreyWrites/pseuds/LadyGreyWrites
Summary: A collection of drabbles featuring Roose and kisses. A mix of canon, au, and modern au. I might add to this from time to time.||| ACCEPTING REQUESTS





	1. A Ghost in the Hall (Sansa Stark)

Roose looked up from his letters when he heard the soft footfalls approaching the library.

It was like having a ghost walking the halls of the Dreadfort. The ghost of Catelyn Stark. The long auburn tresses trailing down her back as she walked straight and tall no matter what indignities were committed against her person (and knowing Ramsay, there were many). 

That arrogant prick Hoster Tully wouldn’t even consider the idea of his daughter marrying a Bolton, so Father’s ravens carried marriage offers unanswered, and Catelyn Tully became Catelyn Stark.

It had held a certain appeal for Roose, forcing the daughter of Catelyn Stark to marry his bastard son.  _That_  would have had Cat turning in her grave. Hoster too.

But seeing the girl’s misery at the hands of his son wasn’t as enjoyable as he thought it would be. As much as he had hated Hoster for looking down on the Boltons as a lesser house, Roose had always believed he would have been a good husband to Cat. 

Ramsay was  _not_  a good husband. Oh, he was polite enough in the company of others, doting on his wife at dinner in the great hall while everyone pretended not to notice the bruises marring Lady Sansa’s pale skin. And Sansa, lacking the sharp tongue and blunt nature of her mother, delivered soft-spoken, honeyed barbs in Ramsay’s direction, so carefully worded that the bastard never even realized he was being insulted.

Lady Sansa entered the library, ignoring Roose’s presence and walking directly to the shelves of old leather wrapped tomes. Her face, shuttered as always, betrayed no sign of her inner thoughts. 

He found himself drawn to her side but unsure of what to say.

She opened her mouth to utter some surely proper greeting, but he took her by the arms and pushed her back into the book stacks. His grip on her was unyielding, but the kiss he laid on her lips had a tenderness that he knew she would never receive from Ramsay. He closed his eyes as he explored that sweet mouth, not wanting to see her eyes, not wanting to know if he would see disgust, fear, shock or whatever else.

But this was not his wife. This was the wife he had chosen for his  _son_. But then, what did Ramsay have that Roose had not given him? Was not everything that was Ramsay’s, also Roose’s? This pretty wife, with her keen mind and honed social graces.. she was wasted on Ramsay. And Roose was nothing if not efficient. _Waste not, want not._

He released his hold on Sansa and reached up behind her to pull a familiar book from the shelf -  _Rubies and Iron._  He offered her a rare smile as he handed her the book.

“You’ll enjoy this one. It was a favourite of my mother’s.”


	2. The Hunt (Lyanna Mormont)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU, older Lyanna

These faculty parties would be the death of Roose; the small talk, a special sort of torture akin to being flayed alive. 

_But when Maege Mormont invited you to a party, you showed up_ , Roose thought, eyeing the Dean’s spike heels and severely-cut houndstooth suit. She nodded in greeting to Roose and moved on to trade thinly-veiled insults with Barbrey Dustin. 

Roose accepted a second drink from his long time friend, Jon Umber,  _the Greatjon_  to his friends, although Roose had always refused to utter such a ridiculous nickname  _out loud_. The Greatjon blathered on about his newest rugby recruits as Roose scanned the many faces in the room. 

The same old faces. Catelyn Stark and her smug smile, talking with her bat-shit crazy sister, Lysa. And Mariya Frey, her too-long nose and weasly eyes, most likely correcting some sort of grammatical error, judging from the look on Wyman Manderly’s face.  _Gods-damned English professors_.

And there. A  _new_  face. A young woman, nearly a head taller than the others, with shiny chestnut tresses curling over her shoulders. She threw her head back in laughter at something Davos Seaworth said, revealing the long, slim line of her throat; pale as milk.

He could almost imagine the gentle beat of her pulse, the blood flowing through the veins in that lovely neck. 

She somehow sensed his gaze from across the room and gave him a cool stare before turning back to Davos.

“Who is that?” Roose asked, interrupting the Greatjon’s ramblings about the arm on Willas Tyrell. 

The Greatjon let out a loud guffaw when he saw who Roose was looking at. “Why, that’s little Lyanna Mormont, all grown up!” he bellowed. _Seven hells,_  the man knew nothing about discretion.

_Little Lyanna Mormont_.

Maege’s daughter. She had always been a bratty little thing.  _Underfoot_. And never had any reluctance to share her opinion. Roose could distinctly remember the pint-sized girl with the confident voice, loudly telling him that it was disrespectful to refer to her mother as  _Maege_ , and that he should call her  _Dean Mormont._

Not so pint-sized anymore. 

The Greatjon grinned, slapping Roose on the back. “Go talk to her. It’s time you moved on, anyhow.”

Roose scowled, not appreciating the referral to his third failed marriage. But then, perhaps his friend was right. He threw back what was left of his glass even though his head was already buzzing from the first drink, as he normally did not partake. 

Lyanna had finished her conversation with Davos and was headed out the door into the courtyard. Roose followed behind, hunter to his prey. Her head turned back for a brief second but she didn’t stop. Did she see him? Did she  _want_ him to follow her?

The night air in the courtyard was cool, and Lyanna stood by a gaudy gold fountain, the foamy water shooting in a graceful arc from the mouth of a roaring bear. 

Her back was to Roose, her long slim frame like a gazelle in the moonlight.  _So pure, so innocent_.

Or so he thought.

When he reached her side and she turned toward him, the determination in her eyes reminded him once again of the fierce little girl who dared to put one of her mother’s colleagues in his place.

This one was  _not_  prey. 

And that realization only fuelled his desire more.

He reached behind her, tangling his fingers in the sable strands, and took her mouth in a ruthless kiss.


	3. Five Times Kissed (Catelyn Tully Stark)

## First time kissed

The children ran around the yard, playing Lord of the Crossing. Roose was 12, and felt he was too old for such games, but Father had insisted. 

It was Hosteen Frey’s turn at being the Lord, and when little Catelyn Tully approached him and asked for safe passage, he reached out and shoved her to the ground.

“You didn’t pay the toll!” he yelled at the now crying girl.

She was just little, barely past being a baby, and she sobbed at the sight of her skinned knees. 

Her cries were shrill, setting Roose’s teeth on edge. He  _hated_ crying. His father hated crying too, and Roose was scared that the little girl’s cries would be heard.

Roose grabbed Hosteen by the arm and flung him away from Catelyn. The girl looked up with big blue eyes and hiccuped a little when she saw Roose leaning over her.

“Kiss it better?” she asked hopefully.

_Seven hells_. Catelyn’s knees were scraped and dirty from the mud. It was  _unclean_  to lay his mouth upon such things. 

She started to whimper again.

_But if it would stop the crying…_

Roose bent down and quickly kissed one of the girl’s knees.

“See? All better!” he said before high-tailing it back to the keep to wash his mouth. 

 

## Second time kissed

Father had told him he needed to be polite to Lord Tully’s daughters. He was negotiating something important. Something that would put him ahead of the Starks. Someday we’ll have everything the Starks took from us, Father was always saying.

The younger sister, the bratty one, had asked Roose to dance three times already, but he gave her a carefully crafted excuse each time, ignoring the growing rage in the girl’s watery blue eyes. And then, just to anger her more, he asked her older sister to dance. Catelyn. The pretty one. 

Her eyes, a softer blue than her sisters, had looked unsure as she studied Roose’s face, and then glanced back at her father who was deep in discussion with Roose’s father. When Hoster didn’t notice her silent question, she seemed to steel herself up, and she offered a hand to Roose.

Catelyn was tall, the same height as Roose, and she somehow felt both very solid and very soft in his arms. She was a better dancer than he was, but when the song finished, she was gracious and thanked him for the dance.

But when she went to remove herself from his grasp, his grip only tightened. He drew her hand to his lips, and kissed the soft skin.

“The pleasure was all mine, my lady,” he said before she yanked her hand away and stormed back to her sister. 

 

## Third time kissed 

Lord Tully had not been at all interested in marrying either of his daughters to a Bolton, but he still had the gall to invite Roose and his father to Lysa’s wedding. And Father had insisted that they  _attend._ And Lysa was being married to Jon Arryn. Maybe Lord Arryn was once some great knight, but now he was wrinkled and hunched over and covered with brown age spots. 

Roose found Cat seated near the edge of the hall, watching the dancing. She gave him a wary look but didn’t protest when he took a seat next to her. She looked sad, he thought. Would she miss her sister so much?

“I’m next,” she said cryptically.

Roose peered at her in the dim light. “Sorry?”

“To be married. I’m next. I’m promised to Brandon Stark.”

Roose had thought she’d be happier about such a thing. Barbrey went on and on about Brandon and how handsome he was. All the girls did. 

“It could be worse,” Roose said, looking at the way Lord Arryn was clutching at Lysa as they twirled around the dance floor.

Cat gave him a reluctant smile. “I suppose you’re right.”

She was so beautiful with her hair aglow in the soft candlelight. Brandon Stark with all his arrogant bravado didn’t deserve such a creature. Roose leaned over and kissed her on the lips. 

Cat reared back. “W-what was that for?”

A group of young maids nearby began tittering at the sight. Cat’s eyes flickered over to them and then back at Roose, her mind made up.

When she slapped him across the face, it was only a little bit unexpected.

“How dare you, Roose!” she huffed before joining the group of girls.

 

## Fourth time kissed

Ned Stark, that sanctimonious prig, was dead, and Lord Hoster lay dying. The Boltons had knelt at the feet of the Starks for far too long. And Lord Walder was not willing to bend the knee to Hoster’s boy. They both had something to gain from the way the pieces fell. And if Tywin Lannister wanted to share in the winnings as well, then so be it.

Roose was just returning from his negotiations with Lord Lothar Frey when he passed Cat in the hallway. She had been a ghost of her former self since the raven came from Kings Landing with grim tidings.

In all his plans, in all the scheming to destroy Houses Stark and Tully, he had forgotten about Cat. She would never forgive him for what he would do in the months to come.

Roose turned back. “Lady Catelyn,” he called.

She turned, face drawn, eyes tired. “Do you need something, Lord Bolton?”

“My lady,” he said, taking her arm. “I know relations have at times been … strained … between our houses. But I wanted to say that I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

Cat’s face started to crumple just the tiniest bit before she schooled her expression to a more neutral one. “Thank you, Lord Bolton. That’s very kind of you.” She leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek before turning away.

Roose’s hand rose unbidden to his face to touch the spot where the warmth of her lips still lingered.

 

## Fifth time kissed

She had been dead for a day and a night, but other than the ghastly gash in her throat, she could have been sleeping peacefully, Roose thought to himself after the Silent Sisters left him alone with Cat.

Danwell and Raymund Frey had been about to raise her body on a stake above the ramparts when Roose found them. After an exchange of harsh words, the Frey brothers agreed to put Catelyn’s body to rest in the Green Fork once the Silent Sisters were finished with the preparations.

Catelyn had been the only woman who Roose had ever had the slightest interest in. And somehow the stars had aligned, fates had conspired, and Catelyn - with her ties to House Tully and House Stark - had stood at the crossroad leading to everything Roose had ever wanted in his life. Redemption for House Bolton. Dominion over the North. The fall of the Starks.

_The price had been paid._

Roose lay his cloak over Catelyn’s naked body, and bent down to kiss her lips, long grown cold.


	4. Key to the North (Jeyne Poole as Arya Stark)

The entire keep knew of Arya’s misery- her sobbing was heard every night by anyone who passed by Ramsay’s chambers. But Roose had been told that she never uttered a word of complaint to any of her handmaidens, and only had the kindest words to say of Ramsay. And Ramsay insisted she was loyal to him.

Roose had his doubts. How many times had he told Ramsay, “Power tastes best when sweetened by courtesy,”? The girl’s fealty was key to winning the loyalty of the Northern lords, and his bastard was beating her bloody on a nightly basis.

At Roose’s request, Reek escorted Lady Arya to the study. The girl was timid, her hands trembling, her hair falling over her eyes as if to hide her face from the world. 

“My Lord,” she said in a quavering voice, curtsying in a most pleasing manner.

“My Lady,” Roose greeted her in return. “You have nothing to fear here. I simply want to talk with you.”

If anything, the girl looked even  _more_ frightened. 

“Tell me, Lady Arya. My son, he is good to you?” Roose asked.

The girl nodded frantically. “Yes, Lord Bolton! Ramsay is, is – he’s very kind!”

The girl was so frightened Roose wouldn’t have been surprised if she had started to urinate on the floor like a cowering  _dog_. 

Roose nodded approvingly at Lady Arya. “Good. And he has kind words for you? He tells you that you are beautiful and kisses you every night?”

“My Lord?” the girl asked, looking confused. But confused was better than scared.

“I asked you a question, my lady,” Roose reminded her, keeping his voice low and even, hoping to calm her.

“H-he says I’m not so ugly as the kennelmaster’s daughter, my lord,” she stammered.

“Faint praise,” Roose murmured, shaking his head.

“But he’s never kissed me,” the girl blurted.

Roose raised an eyebrow. “My son knows the importance of producing an heir, and-”

“No, my lord!” Lady Arya interrupted. “That’s not what I meant! He still..” the girl trailed off, cheeks pink with shame. “He still does the … heir-making things. But he does not kiss me.”

Roose shook his head again, this time in disapproval. “No kisses for his pretty wife. Apologies, my lady, for this gross oversight.”

“My Lord?” the girl asked again.

“A girl as pretty as you deserves to be kissed,” he said, and beckoned her forward. “Sit here,” he said, patting his knee.

Lady Arya approached slowly, tentatively, but sat primly on his lap, her trembling all the more obvious with the physical contact.

With a finger, he tipped her chin up and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, lingering just a little bit longer than necessary. When he leaned back, her eyes were wide.

“Run along now, girl,” he said, dismissing her with a flick of his hand. “Ramsay will be looking for you.”


End file.
